Twitch
by Fantasia Komix
Summary: Rowan Silver, age 10, has lived in the Speed Force her whole life. When she accidentally sends a letter to a certain speedster through her journal, everyone is confused. Well, Rowan and the teen who got it, but that's practically the same thing, right? No, her newfound penpal kidnaps her and takes her to Earth 1. No romance.
1. From my journal to your door

Consider this a Prologue or something. It's simply an introduction to the rest of the story.

Sometimes I wonder if there's anything outside the Speed Force, but everyone here says, "We'll tell you later", or "I don't know", or "What are you talking about?" So far, no one has given me a straight answer in the entire ten Earth-Sun rotations I've been alive.

Well fine, ten-and-a-quarter Earth-Sun rotations and one-and-eight-and-thirty-parts Earth-Axis rotation, but that's not the point. (If I'm not crazy and there really is another place, I sincerely hope that the people there have a shorter way to say the time)

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that I've yearned to run to a new place where no one knows me (and vice versa) since I first knew the meaning of the word, even though there is no concrete evidence of such a thing.

* * *

This is my Speedster's Log, which doesn't make sense since I don't know anyone who's abnormally slow or something that justifies that name. I received this book on my tenth Earth-Sun cycle anniversary in hopes that something will happen to justify its name. Since I'm learning about writing letters (yet another thing that is useless), I am supposed to quote-unquote "person" I will write to from now on. So you will now be dubbed "Wallace West", since that was the one cool alliterative name on the list Mr. Joe gave me, the name from the stories he told me.

* * *

31-and-3-parts Earth-Sun cycles after the Speed Collapse

Dear Mr. Wallace West,

My name is Rowan Silver, and you've probably never heard of me before now. Apparently you live on Earth 1, whatever that means; since we will probably never meet each other in person, I will go ahead and tell you a little about myself.

Phenotype and physical features: I am ten Earth-Sun cycles old, and I live on Speed Force. I have black wavy hair with white highlights due to how close the sun gets at times. My skin is tanned Caucasian (see above). My eyes are Cobalt Blue with Light Gray streaks. My average walking speed is, on average, 2 Mach.

Hobbies: I hope to become a writer someday, or perhaps a police officer like in the stories Mr. Joe used to tell me about Joe West and the Flash (He had a joke about that particular pseudonym that I don't really get yet). I run every day in hopes that I will someday become fast enough to get out of here like that one story he told me about the person you were named after.

I have some questions about you. What do you look like? What is Earth 1? Do you know what the term "Speedster" means? Are you related to Joe West? How fast can you go?

Signed,

Rowan Silver

* * *

Somewhere in the vast multiverse, a letter has just been delivered to a certain teenager on Earth 1. This particular letter was quite short and flutter-minded, like most logs that were never meant to be read usually are. The person who wrote it thought they were writing in a journal, after all, and she was very young on top of that.

The certain teenager that she addressed it to, however, did receive it; he thought it was a joke at first, but he was curious about how the sender worded the date, and how they knew about the Speed Force, and what they meant when they didn't know what Earth 1 was.

Since teenagers make oh-so-much sense (in their own minds), he decided to write back.

The letter he wrote went something like this:

* * *

23 October 1986

Dear Ms. or Mr. Rowan Silver,

First of all, my name is Wally, not "Wallace" , and I am WAY too young to be called "Mr". Who are you, really? Is this "Mr Joe" your informant? Do you really have no clue as to what "Earth 1" is? Please tell me you were joking when you said you live on the SPEED FORCE.

I am a Caucasian male of fifteen years with auburn hair and green eyes. And that is all I will say about myself until I know who or what you are.

Speaking of which, you really should know what a speedster is...because you are one, of course. Most human beings would not survive the G-FORCEs generated by the acceleration required to get up to 2 Mach within the time required to make walking at the Speed efficient, if at all. And a speedster normally needs to train and bulk up on the cal. in order to be able to do the trip without passing out. Who was your trainer?

Do you mean years when you say "Earth-Sun cycles"? And what was the " Speed Collapse"? Are you 10 YEARS old? How does the sun get close enough to BLEACH your hair?!

Bound to have more questions later,

Wally West

P.S. How did you send your letter to me if you don't have my address? And how am I supposed to send this letter to you in response?

* * *

After rereading his letter to make sure he didn't say anything about his...other job, he sealed the envelope with a glue containing a single microtracker. Because every teen has his sort of job and is overly paranoid.

Since the alleged "Rowan Silver" didn't deign to reveal their address, he just stuffed the letters into the back of the closet amidst his clothes and storage containers until he could decide what to do.

Unfortunately, for him at least, someone didn't care for unsent mail.

And that's how our story begins.


	2. Don't meet your penpal

Something October 1986 (not sure how this process works)

Dear Wally,

Today started out like any other day...for me, anyway. I dinked around with my wheeled machine, trying to make it go slow enough to get me out of this place, smacked the little beat-up, hand-me-down punching bag that Mr. Joe set up in the garage next to my work area when the calculations don't work, then went out for a jog to clear my head.

Now, before you say anything, I do love my friends and will miss them a lot. I just don't want to stay here all my life, which is apparently what is expected of me.

What a great little 10 "year-old" I am. Oh yeah, speaking of which, I asked my teacher Ms. Jess what a year is yesterday; the look on her face was priceless. Apparently it's just an old-age term for Earth-Sun cycle, (YES! I knew there was a term for that) but she seemed too wary for that to be the case. Is there any other meaning associated with the word "year" that I should be worried about?

Oh, how do you use your date system? I think I figured out what the last number is (year), but I don't know what "October" and the other number mean.

By the way, what do you mean, who am I really? I told you. Rowan Silver. I don't really have a middle name, but you didn't give one, so yeah.

Mr. Joe is the person who told me stories concerning someone with your name, so you might say that he's my informant. Or you could call him a tired old man trying to get a little five-year-old to stay still long enough to go to sleep. Take yer pick.

Is Earth 1 a different country or something? Oo, is it an alternate dimension where it's similar yet different? (I'm finally taking Physics. I really hope the Quantum Theory isn't simply a possibility) And why did you seem concerned when I told you about where I live? Do you think it's like Gotham or something? (Those stories are dark...does Robin exist where you live? If so, please take the piece of paper I enclosed in this envelope, sign it, get him to sign it, and any other heroes, powered or otherwise, and mail it back with your next letter)

I suppose I was my own trainer. I mean, everyone I attend classes with (while they are a bit older) is super cool and stuff; the only way I could survive the crowds without being trampled is learn to duck, weave, and sprint to class.

What's a "cal." ?

I honestly don't know what the Speed Collapse is, I just roll with it.

I am Female, thanks for indirectly asking.

The sun is a bit bright at times, for we're the second closest planet to the sun. (Some smartypants decided to test a teleporting device on Venus and zapped himself and the celestial body to the Outer Rim of Jupiter) We're about 25 miles closer to the sun than before (which makes no sense unless the mass of Venus was pushing us away from the sun; nature should look at Newton's laws).

What were you talking about? I got your letter, I'm responding, what's the problem?

Anyway, I have a really off -topic question for you: Since you know something about the Speed Force (don't deny it, your response proves otherwise), is it possible for someone to go slow enough that the S.F. won't support them, sending them elsewhere (like, per say, an alternate dimension)?

From a hopefully potential friend,

Rowan Silver

P.S. Please don't call me Ms, either, just Rowan. Or Silver. Or Twitchy Two-feet. Or Madam Stumbles-a-lot. Anything but Ms.

* * *

Rowan got a reply in only two Earth-Axle Cycles. Except it wasn't a letter. Someone came to pay a visit.

* * *

Hello, Now go away.

This is me in the morning without my morning half-cup of coffee.

Hello, I'm Rowan, why are you here, and could you scoot so I could get my Crunchy Peanut-Buttered toast? That's me without breakfast.

I sit down to bleerily crunch on my burnt bread as I contemplate the usefulness of going to school. Eh, I should probably go so that I can have a positive future.

When I glance at the clock and realize what time it is (7:50, if you want to know), I cram the remaining slice in my mouth, scramble and slip to my desk to pack, all in my lightning pjs. I shouldn't have taken that time to savor the bitterness of the coffee, but whatever. It'll only take a sec to change into my jeans and t-shirt, and to brush my teeth.

Right as I stuff the last book into my backpack, some random person runs straight through the front door not the living room, little scorch marks in their wake.

Sounds cool, right?

NO. NOT COOL. AT ALL. This random stranger decided to crikin' blow up our door before slipping on our wooden floor, tripping on the carpet, and crackin' their head on the couch arm.

How am I supposed to deal with an unconscious human in my living room? Couldn't he (think it's a he, anyway, can't crikin' tell right now) have waited until after school to come knocking himself out in the main living space of the house?

I cautiously walk towards him (though it seems too fast, for some reason) to better examine the damage. I don't really want to see my first death at age ten.

That is a young male teenager in a yellow-and-red onesie. Aaand a hoodie with eye holes. (Does he think it is a crime to wear pjs?)

Don't know anyone who would admit to wearing something like that in public, much less break in somewhere. Also don't know anyone who has bright ORANGE hair (white, maybe, not orange).

When I poke his shoulder to see if he would wake up, the kid's eyes snap open and he immediately uses the now slightly broken couch (hahaha, understatement; it's totally obliterated) to right himself. Those eyes are different, a bit like what I imagined Emerald would look like, except with a hint of Forest green.

Then he does the jerk thing and attempts to exit my house.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" I stand up and position myself between him and the smoking pile of ash that is now my door. "Crazy dude, if you think you're getting out of here without replacing my door, much less an explanation, you've obviously got problems."

The boy startles, clearly noticing my presence for the first time. His face, which is already a shade lighter than my own, pales when he spots the crater in my wall.

"Oh, crud. I didn't realize anyone was still living here."

What?

"Who are you?" I ask, perplexed at his answer to my previous question. Does it matter whether or not the house has occupants when you decide to incinerate its front door?

He runs the back of his neck with a red-gloved hand, clearly embarrassed. "It's Kid Flash. Look, I'm sorry about the door. And the couch and floor. And for scaring your cat. I'll fix it soon, but could you tell me where a Ms. Rowan Silver lives?"

"It's Rowan, Mr. Kid Flash. Let me guess, it's either you intercepted the correspondences between a Mr. Wallace West and myself and decided to come find me for some reason, I've been writing to a friend of yours, or I wrote to you. Which is it, Mr., and please don't try to bluff."

The alleged Kid Flash pinches the bridge of his nose, I believe in an attempt to think of a way out of this. His hand comes down, and the corner of my mouth twitches at the resigned look on his face.

He finally answers after a long awkward silence of ten seconds. "Fine, the third one. Will you come with me to Earth 1 so that you don't deteriorate within a decade?"

before I could answer, he grins. "Alright. Brace yourself."

He tries to pick me up, but I go NOPE and run out the door.

I dash through the street, the doors a blur as I zip away from the psycho penpal person-napper.

What? I wanted it to be alliterative. Makes it easier to remember.

I make a sharp turn onto Ford Road. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a smidge of lightning pass the turn, barely missing me.

This is the best time I've had since my fifth birthday. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, the wind howling in my ears drowning everything else, the wall rapidly closing in on me-

I jump and crouch sideways in midair, my feet absorbing the impact before I start running upward. Because I think to myself, 'They never look up.'

Except apparently they do. The twerp was up there waiting for me with open arms.

He encloses me in a firm hug, being gentle yet firm even as I struggle to break free.

I'm trapped.

He carefully lifts me away from himself, keeping my arms pinned to my sides as I glare at him. He looks back, remorse written in what isn't under the cowl. I don't want him to be remorseful, I want him far away from me, with no reason to give me that look.

For, in my experience, the look always means someone's going to be hurt in the end.

"I'm sorry, but I'll explain everything when we get there."

He sets me down and pulls out a pair of cuffs from who-knows-where and links us together at the wrist, all before I realize what he's doing.

I, like any desperate human being, attempt to smack him on the back of the skull and make a break for it.

Of course, whatever diety group that is in right now decides that, for some reason, I don't get cut a break.

The supposed "superhero" (supervillain, whatever) snatches my free wrist (with his "captive" hand. Show off). He takes a deep breath and cracks a little stick in front of my face.

I hold in the remaining air I have for 10.5 minutes, Kid Flash staring at me with a mixture of concern and awe. At least, until I release the carbon dioxide and breathe in the contaminated air.

My vision blinks for about two seconds, but that's it. I frown at the confused look on the jerk's face. Then he looks up at something behind me and sighs in relief.

"Hey, Flash."

Something SMACKS me on the EXACT SAME PLACE I wanted to hit The Western Firehazard Spectacular earlier. I hope someone kicks the dieties in charge on the sides of the knees or something.

I start to collapse, bringing Mr. West down with me. (Can't exactly be casual with the name of the kidnapper, eh? I reckon this is why people say, "Never meet your heroes." ) I look up at the face of a reversed version of Zippy People Taker Sr. (doesn't show hair, though), but my head hurts as my eyes move.

Still falling.

My vision quivers, but I get one last glare in at the duo zippers before my head smacks the concrete on the roof of Passin' without Fussin'™.


	3. Caffeine crash is not cool

_My brain hurts. What's going on? Why are my hands behind my back?_

I wake up.

The first thing I notice is the smell of hospital stuff. (You know, the sterile surfaces, the smell of heavy-duty cleaning stuff and sanitizer; kinda stressful, if you ask me)

I also notice that I'm in that weird hospital gown thing that you have to wear when you stay there a long time (or something, it's been a while since I've been in a hospital; I don't get sick).

Weird, my brain is hopping around like a kangaroo, bounding down a bunch of tangents even more than usual.

There's a chain shackling my right hand to the handlebar of the bed.

May the person who figured out my dominant hand eat crow; since my dominant hand is out of commission, I'll have to use my left pointer finger to vibrate the lock apart, which is already very risky considering it could just as easily turn my wrist into a bloody smoothie.

Okay, that went better than I hoped. As I run the circulation into my hand, I look around some more from the bed.

Speaking of which, where am I- oh, now I remember. Mr. West wanted to take me to Earth 1, supposedly because my home is 'super dangerous' and will disintegrate me in ten years. As if my atoms will be any better in an alternate dimension.

Besides, doesn't it make it so something in their universe is taken onto the Speed Force because of the whole 'matter can be transformed, not destroyed' thing. Well, my theory is that it's because of the balance that has to be maintained over matter and antimatter. Science is kind of my thing, if ya hadn't noticed already.

So...where are the pains-in-the-meadow now? Did they seriously leave me without a guard? Scratch that, there's ONE security camera. Nothin' else.

I lean over to the right and grab a high-tech lamp next to some surgeons tools. Seriously, did they put me in a storage closet or something?

Ready. Aim. Throw as hard as I can to the left. The twenty-something pound light apparatus smacks the camera off the ceiling (which breaks upon impact with the floor) and shatters a wall mirror about a foot farther away.

"S***!"

Scratch that, a ONE-way mirror. Behind it, there's a shocked teen in Christmas tree red (a bit older than Kid F) who'd obviously just started eating lunch (or something...because I don't know what the crikin' time is, let alone what day it is) judging from the variety of greasy paper bags in the plastic bag at his feet.

I jump off the bed and snatch a couple scapels off the tray, putting the bed between young Santa and myself. Heh, I should continue thinking up nicknames for the dude, considering that he hasn't given me one.

I get down in a pounce, my eyes trained on the opening in the mirror and my ears swiveling slightly everywhere else. Might be hissing. Just a little.

(That cat Mr. West nearly killed had been basically the bigger, older sister who helped raise me...one of the smartest beings I've ever met)

The said teenager starts moving his left finger to his ear and his right hand to the bow on his back.

Nope, not happening. I am NOT going to be taken down by a Robin Colored Arrow or any backup he calls to save his bottom.

Before I could think too much, I run towards him and steal the comm and his quiver before running back to my vantage point. Carefully, of course; I need to figure out why I'm here and how to get back home before I knock off their members (put them out of action, of course, not kill).

I can't help chuckling when he figures out that he lost his comm and sharp objects and glares at me. "What the- oh, crud, another KF. Great. I'll try not to hurt you."

"Well, Kid Flash destroyed my living room, chased me downtown, and tried to drug me. Flash knocked my on the back of the head, and the dynamic duo brought me back to the wrong dimension under the guise of saving me when really they're risking the collapse of my cellular integrity. So yeah, too late."

I think I spoke too fast, for the smuck just looks plain confused. Poor idiot.

I finger the quiver, wondering if I could throw the arrows like darts.

He doesn't look particularly thrilled, but he gets out his bow with his left and prepares to fight, holding it like a bendy quarter staff. At least they chose someone amusing to 'guard' me.

I run towards the right, since it is typically not expected of children to run towards the weapon. I use the quiver to deflect the bow swung at me, then smack it against the back of his head.

The Red Summertime Angsty Santa crumbles forward through the mirror at my feet. After a second's thought I pry the domino mask off his face and slip it over my eyes. It molds to my face, which explains why it didn't fall off his. I pick up the bow and shoulder 'my' quiver before stepping through the hole.

I smirk at the swivel chair that had been pushed to the side of the hole. I guess he didn't expect a ten-year-old kid to get the better of him.

I carefully pick up the guard, put him on the floor of the hallway outside the door, and check his pulse. Good, he's still alive. I grab the bag of potential survival fuel and stuff it in my quiver.

I select one of the weird arrows and hold it loosely in my hand as I wander down the hall.

Sure is dark. One side of the hallway is stone, while the other is metal. If I walk along the wall made of stone, maybe I'll find a way out. If this is a cave, that is.

I tiptoe run through the hallway, noticing how everything seems so much slower. Even the clock I just passed is going three seconds for every one that I count. Something freaky is going on here.

* * *

I've been running for- let's see, one two three- FOUR blasted hours! And that's according to the funky clock in front of the glass.

My stomach growls, which reminds me of the atom misalignment that is very likely to occur soon. Would I be able to eat food from this world?

Time to experiment.

I rummage through the bag that I grabbed from the guard's 'post' and select a smaller bag with something to do with burger on the side. I open _that_ bag to find a delicious-looking burger and (another) bag full of fries.

Turns out that I _can_ eat food from here with no immediate negative side effects. I devour the meal and save the rest for later. (I wonder how different the chemical makeup in that food I just ate would be if I made it with the corresponding ingredients at home?)

I sign and rub my forehead, my fingertips unconsciously tracing the outline of the mask. Then my hand freezes as I realize something. Why do they need masks? Is whatever they're doing in this facility against the law in this world?

As I ponder this, I meander into what looks like an empty teacher's lounge, with the cupboards, fridge, chairs, microwave, and a-

"Coffee maker," I whisper to myself. I search the cupboards, one of which containing a weird plant that I definitely want to examine later, and find the supplies for bliss. It's been really stressful, cut me a break for raiding the bad guy lounge.

I tinker around with the machine until I figure out that it works like the one back home. I do the proper steps, then turn it on.

"What are you doing in here?"

I spin around to find a woman with white blond hair in a black suit leaning on the door frame, a perplexed yet calculating gaze scanning my face. She stares at the mask I 'borrowed' from Saint Arrow, then at the bow and quiver that I strapped to my back to leave my hands free to climb up to the cupboards, then back at me.

I crack a grin. "Just getting a half-cup of coffee. It is really tiring getting kidnapped and fighting my way out of containment. Do you want some before we duke it out?"

Might as well be friendly and honest, right?

The woman pushes off the frame and takes a step towards me. In that time, the coffee maker beeps, I pour a half-cup, chug it, get another mug and fill it up, then reposition the lady so she's sitting in one of the chairs holding the mug.

I sit down in the opposite chair, putting the coffee table between us, and stay still until she catches up to what's going on.

Her eyes go wide in shock when her brain catches up, then her face relaxes. Guess she's a little...slow? (Mental facepalm)

All she has to say is, "My name's classified, but most know me as Black Canary. What's your name?"

Okay, that's weird. Who in their right mind would name their child classified? Also, why is she so calm? And why doesn't she know my name? Isn't she working with dd?

I finger one of the funky arrows as I observe her silently for a full seven seconds, then I remark, "Shouldn't you ask the Flashes about that, Ms. Classified? They're the ones who kidnapped me from my home. Aren't you working with them?"

Classified chokes on something, nearly spilling her coffee. "Sorry, did you say you were _kidnapped_? By the Flashes? I find that hard to believe."

As she says this, her fingers wanders up to 'pinch her nose', but I notice the little machine. Let her, then I could get to the bottom of this.

"Are you certain you're not mistaken?"

"About as clueless about who they are as I am about how you just alerted someone else to my presence in this lounge. Now, can you get me back to Speed Force, or will I have to leave and find someone else who can?"

When she doesn't verbally respond, I get up and walk towards the door only for her to get in my way.

"Please wait. I'm sure we can help you, but you need to wait for the others to get here."

She admits it? Good job, time to go.

I back up as she walks toward me. "First of all, that's an 'I'm sure', not an 'I'll help'. Second, who are the others? Where am I?"

She nods, which kinda sucks since that means that there's someone behind me. I duck and spin, narrowly avoiding a weird glowy collar thing that this green guy with few clothes tried to snap on my neck.

Owwww, my head hurts again. I curl up into a ball and start shivering super fast, hoping that it prevents them from touching me.

Hahaha, it does. It tickles my neck when he tries to snap it on, but it keeps getting caught on a through-hair, so it can't make the proper seal.

My brain is trying to kill me again, but I can't stop shaking otherwise the green guy and the lady in black and Red Riding Hood and the zipping duo will get me and-

I decide to hum to myself to block out the noise and lights while I just keep on shivering.

* * *

It's been about an hour, and since I'm still shivering, I'm going to assume they don't know what to do with me.

So glad that I got that coffee, though I'll probably run out soon.

When I close my eyes, I see the green dude poking around.

So, my naturally being super stressed and confused and whatnot, I wave to him.

He jumps, clearly not expecting me, but I fade back to real life.

I open my eyes and see a whole bunch of people, including this guy in a black suit with a ridiculously shaped cowl that enhances a couple stray hairs from sloppy shaving, with a bunch of melted metal surrounding me.

I laugh, somehow thinking this is hilarious.

Well, my brain must've made another tangent, and it doesn't help that I haven't had any water within the past twenty-four hours, judging by the state of my mouth (dry).

The world stops spinning, I stagger up to my feet, and make my getaway.

At least, I try to, but I can't exactly run through these people; it could kill them! (Yes, I am a good ten year old)

Right as I pause for one normal second to figure out what to do, something clicks on like a necklace.

I turn around very slowly and cock my head at the person before me before something pricks my arm.

"Hey, what's the big idea?"

Then I discover that my legs decided that they don't get paid enough for this job and quit. Luckily (or not) someone catches me before my head makes contact with the ground again.

I bleerily glare at the said someone. "Waths theh bigh ideah, knockin meh upsidh theh head, Fwash?!"

Then I drift off, vaguely noticing a trickle of fluid going down my throat.

* * *

I wake up in my head, which must mean that the body's asleep.

So I do my job and check for any dead spots that need repairing using the hemisystem at my desk. (She ignored the amygdala. Again)

Other than being the totally reckless kid she is, we're fine.

That is, until the green guy she spotted today fades in on the other side of the table.

I shriek in surprise and get out the wrench I always keep in my pocket just in case R accidentally lets someone hostile in.

Instead, he looks at me strangely. "Strange, I thought that humans minds are on their own inside the body, yet it seems this particular child has another one _inside_ her brain."

He is definitely a telepath, and he's not talking to me. The man must be speaking to someone while he's mucking around in here.

"Excuse me, sir, but the R brain is inaccessible to visitors at this time, so please exit to your right. Bye, hope I don't see you later."

And you know what he DOES next?! He just throws a net at me and pushes my chair out from behind my desk.

Then he examines the computer and the information on it, and starts clicking away on it.

Unbeknownst to him, the room starts to change.

I think to myself, 'This can't end well.'


	4. Hello Grasshole, Sir

I bleerily wake up, thinking everything stinks for the world, and immediately start to gag.

Ugh...my mouth tastes like bung and week breath.

I sit up from my spot on the floor and try to run the soreness in my neck, only to be thwarted by the cursed restraint thing. I sigh through my nose. This sucks. And the worst thing is that the thing isn't even useful for them or me, it isn't attached to anything asides from my throat.

Upon inspection of the room I'm in, I notice that the walls are metal, there's only one door, and the ceiling is covered in several stalker-grade cameras. I grin at the cameras, then flip 'em the bird.

Have you ever seen those signs that tell you to "Smile, you're on camera"? They are stupid yet hilarious. Who in their right mind would smile at a camera before stealing from the place? That just makes you look sharper than ever.

Anyway, I try to stand up, but my legs still haven't decided to take back their resignation.

I shout at the cameras, "Wow, what a nice necklace you gave me! Do I get to meet the nice men in blue or what?"

Yep. I am sooo happy right now. Not.

A hole opens in the bottom of the door, and someone pushes a tray of food inside. My stomach growls, but my mouth is so dry.

I eat the food, noticing how my mouth isn't even making saliva anymore. After a couple bites I'm full, which shouldn't be happening.

I try to speak, but all that comes out is a croak. Merde! I was able to talk earlier. What happened?

The food probably dehydrated me. Stupid drug combination. I'm already imprisoned, what more do they want from me.

After thorough inspection of the room, I decide that there isn't a way out yet. I drag myself over to a corner facing the door and wait.

After about ten minutes or something, the poorly shaven fellow walks in with a cup of water. My eyes latch onto it immediately. I unconsciously lick my lips, then wince from the stinging. Shouldn't have done that.

The man in black pushes a button on his wrist, which somehow activates the protruding of an interrogation table and wheely chairs. He tells me to go sit in the chair...which is about five yards from where I'm sitting.

I silently point to my legs, hopefully giving him a 'dumbgrass' face. The adult frowns, then walks over and picks me up by the shoulders and sits me down in the chair.

Ow. Note to self: DO NOT hang from your shoulders!

He sits down in the chair opposite mine and asks me, "What's your name?"

I point at my throat, trying to communicate how dry it is.

He sighs, "No, I'm not going to take the inhibitor collar off. What is your name?" Huh, so that's what it's called.

I roll my eyes and point at the cup of water, then at my throat. Hello, haven't had liquids in more than 48 hours. Kinda slow on the uptake, aren't ya?

The weird dude passes me the glass and silently watched me as I drink it. What? I can't exactly use this to break out, can I? Or can I?

Before I go off on a hopefully useful tangent, he asks me the question a third time. "What is your name?"

Can he say anything else?

I smirk after downing the glass. "Name's Twitch. And by the way, when I get this collar off, my metabolism would probably dissolve the tracker. And I used an alias when writing to Kid Flash, Mr. Wallace West, whatever I'm supposed to call him. I am not stupid."

Bluff on only one piece of information; Bet you five pennies that you'll guess it.

I bring my hand up to my face and notice the mask's still on my face. I turn my head to him, silently questioning why it's still on.

"The mask was designed to be only removable by the wearer. How did you remove it?"

I roll my eyes. "I pried it off, genius. Isn't that hard for someone with fingernails. Now, what is this place? Are you doing something illegal that requires that you hide your faces so that you don't get caught, or is this normal attire?"

Yes, I am mocking them. Grassholes.

He ignores my last question and says, "We are in a high-security facility designed to hold enhanced individuals like yourself. Who trained you, and how did you end up in the Speed Force?"

Okay...crazy hairy ninja put me in a super-prison and asked me some stupid questions.

I put my hands together in a tent, pressing my fingertips together, and smirk. "That is classified information, _sir_." What? Two people can play at this game. I'm bored, so might as well.

The man in the chair pinches the bridge of the nose of his domino mask. "Just answer the question, kid."

I bite my thumb at him and spin myself in the chair. "I bite my thumb, _sir_, at your poor memory skills. I don't know which question to answer since you asked two, not one. And anyway, you didn't answer my question about the legality of this situation, so I am not inclined to answer anyway. Are you assuming my age, sir?"

He stands up and places both hands on the table, trying to be intimidating. The man says in a growly voice, "We have ways to get information, _Twitch_, not all of them comfortable for you. And yes, we know that you are ten years old. Now answer both the questions, or else." Poor guy, his throat must have a hard time of it.

I chuckle, enjoying the irritation on what I could see of his face. "I trained myself, _moronic sir_, and I was born and raised in the Speed Force. Any more questions before I find a way to get out of here?"

His mouth goes in a straight line. "It's Batman to you, Twitch. How did you get here?"

I roll my eyes, then realize that he can't see them. I cross my arms instead, still spinning in the chair. I'm starting to get sick, but this is fun. "Dude, your Kid Flash, AKA Wallace West, 14 years old, and Kid Flash Sr. kidnapped me and put me in your medical storage closet. How did you not realize that?"

Then I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that has nothing to do with excessive disorientation and subjection to minor G forces. "You didn't know, did you? Their mission wasn't authorized. Why was Saint Quiver sitting behind the mirror of the closet?"

Bat dude taps the comm piece in his faux ear. "Flash, can you confirm what she said?" After a second, he curses, then abruptly storms out of the room, leaving the chairs behind.

I rub my hands together, then try to stand. Huh, a bit wobbly, but it'll do.

I walk back over to the food I put on the floor earlier and finish it, starving. My stomach growls at me, still hungry. Knew the collar wouldn't work for long.

Sizing up the door, I put the cup on the floor and lift the table, estimating its weight. It'll be enough.

I carefully pick it up all the way and balance it on the two skinny chairs, then push the structure as far away from the door as possible. Then I run, shoving the structure at the door and putting a dent in it. I repeat the process again and again until the door buckles under the pressure, leaving me a way out of the room.

I pick up the cup again and throw it at the ground, shattering it. I pick up the two largest pieces and walk out, flipping off the cameras as I do.

Time to save my grass.


End file.
